The Master Puppeteer
by Phanty
Summary: Erik always did enjoy pulling the strings for his own satisfaction... Leroux based. Won 2nd place and the Darkness Award in the Fourth Phantom Morbidity Contest on POL.


**A/N: This won 2nd place and the honorary Darkness Award in the Fourth Phantom Morbidity Contest over at POL. I hope you all enjoy!**

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The Master Puppeteer

Mimes, in form of God on high,

Mutter and mumble low,

And hither and thither fly—

Mere puppets they, who come and go

At bidding of vast formless things

That shift the scenery to and fro,

Flapping from out their Condor wings

Invisible Woe! – Edgar Allan Poe, The Conqueror Worm

On a singular day in late October I received a letter from my dear cousin, the Vicomte de Chagny, stating that he wished me to visit him. You can imagine my very great surprise upon receiving his note, as the family has not heard one word from the man since his departure into seclusion with his little opera singer ten years ago! In the letter he reminded me of how close we used to be, and told me how he missed my company. I felt a pang of pity in my heart after reading his pleas, and decided to set out at once to the Château de Chagny.

Warm memories invaded my thoughts as my carriage drove nearer the Vicomte's home. Raoul and I had spent many a happy hour in that most ancient of Château's as boys, pretending to be knights of old with tree branches as our noble steeds. However, upon reaching the edge of his estate I was soon whisked away from this old fairytale, and brought to the harsh reality of the present.

As I caught my first glimpse of the château through the carriage window, I sadly saw that the once friendly and inviting castle now seemed to reek with melancholy and desolation. What tragedy had befallen this most noble house of de Chagny?

The air surrounding the estate seemed heavy with foreboding, the dark gray clouds in the sky not aiding the already ominous atmosphere. Driven closer to the castle the wind grew fiercer, lashing out wickedly against my carriage. As I was being rocked viciously to and fro from the strength of the wind, I swore that I heard the name cried by the howling wind in my ear of _Erik_. A most peculiar thing! _Erik_ the wind continued to shriek! Fearing for my sanity, I shouted at the driver to hurry on with haste to the entrance of the Château. What mystery rested behind its doors?

Finally waiting in the grand foyer, I was soon greeted by the presence of my cousin himself. Oh, if only you could have seen him! It took almost all of my wits to simply contain myself from giving a slight gasp at his ghastly appearance. His looks had drastically changed since last I saw him. His once handsome face had become drawn and shallow, his eyes surrounded by dark circles. Raoul looked the very epitome of gloom and despair itself.

"Welcome, my dear cousin!" Raoul exclaimed with an exuberance that did not match his features. "It has surely been too long. Please come and sit by the fire. Would you like some _Châteaux de Berne_ wine, 1871 Grand Crux? An excellent year, with a smooth velvety taste and a beautiful bouquet which is pleasing to the senses."

His excitement was so great that as soon as I accepted the wine, he quickly grabbed my hand and directed me to the sitting room. As I walked into the room, I wondered if I was to finally meet his elusive wife, of whom our family had heard so little. All I knew of her was that she was an opera singer originally from Sweden, and that Raoul had rescued her from some sort of tragedy long ago.

Instead, a portrait of a most gloriously beautiful woman met my eyes. The woman's face was so delicate and handsome, that it would have bewitched _any_ man who looked upon her. Her eyes where a vibrant blue, the lips plump and pink, and she was crowned with a mass of blonde perfect curls atop her head.

"My!" I exclaimed, "She is a marvelous creature! May I inquire as to who this lady is?"

"Yes, she was marvelous. Took _everyone's_ fancy…" Raoul's voice seemed to suddenly become grave and pained as he spoke, "This lady is my late wife, _Christine_. A true pity really, that she had to die so young."

"Oh, forgive me! I had no idea. Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss," I replied reproachfully. "What became of her?"

"Christine died many years ago, just shortly after our wedding from an unknown illness. The doctors were baffled as to a correct diagnosis, and in the end simply decided upon rheumatic fever because it was the easiest explanation. But I who knew what it was…I knew it was all because of him, all because of…!"

Before he let the name slip from his lips, he seemed to catch himself, and quickly closed his mouth.

"_Who_?" I questioned earnestly.

Raoul seemed to think of an answer for several moments before he finally responded to me.

"A name from long ago, that is all. But, let us not dwell on the past…would you like some more wine?"

Though Raoul tried to turn my attention to other things, I could not stop thinking of the lady whose beautiful blue eyes continued to stare at me, as though daring me to find the true answer to the mystery. I knew I would have no peace until I found out the unknown that had claimed her life.

After our conversations drew to a close, Raoul summoned one of the few servants of which he kept to show me to my quarters. The servant seemed no more than forty-five, possessing a great mustache and slightly graying hair. Following him down the dark passageways, I noticed how the small light from his candle was fighting a losing battle against the darkness. Although the sun was still gracing the earth with its warm glow, all the windows in the entire château remained closed and bolted shut.

"Pray tell me, why do you keep your windows closed when there is still sufficient daylight to illuminate our path?" I asked the man curiously, for in my mind it was quite silly to rely on the flicker of a candle when one has the sun readily available to them.

"Because Sir, the master forbids the windows ever to be opened."

"Why on earth does he forbid it? Does he have a dread of sunlight of late?" said I, bewildered at his statement.

"No, Sir…its…its because of the drafts." He replied.

"Drafts? He must be an eccentric chap to keep in darkness because of the fear of drafts!"

The man did not acknowledge my last statement, but continued to walk on up several flights of stairs. Intrigued by the eccentricities of my cousin I had witnessed, a burning desire welled within me to ask this man what he knew of the tragedy of his late mistress.

"How long have you been in service here?" I asked conversationally.

"Nearly thirty-five years, Sir."

"Then, you must know of the curious events surrounding your mistress' sad demise, and the name of the man whom your master believes to be the cause."

At once I saw that the man became almost rigid with trepidation, and after a slight pause stated coolly, "Oh Sir, we do not _speak_ of it, or mention _his_ name!"

Stunned by this response I continued on in my pursuit of knowledge of the event, "You _must_ tell me what you know of your mistress' downfall, for I shall have no rest until I know every detail. For if you do not tell me, I will be driven to ask your master myself."

"Please Sir, don't do that!" He begged, "My master is still greatly pained by the memory." He then let out a great sigh and started to slowly enlighten me upon the mysterious tale, "I will tell you what I know, albeit is not much. The man in question and my master were once vicious rivals, both hating the other with fervor. It is said that the man was mad, a murderer of the highest degree with the face of Satan himself. He claimed to be a phantom, the "Opera Ghost" as he was known at the _Palais Garnier_.

"He took a fancy to my mistress, and captured her, taking her down into his abode beneath the opera house deep in the cellars. My master went in search for her, _and_ _thanks be to God_, rescued her from an awful fate that would have certainly been hers with that madman.

"Shortly after my master's victory, he returned here to his châteaux and married my mistress. They were a happy couple until one year later my mistress suddenly started to look wan and sickly. Many doctors came to check her, prescribing her countless medicines and potions, but nothing seemed to remedy her illness. She only got worse with each slow passing day. Then, on one of the most beautiful of autumn days…we heard the news that she finally had died."

Stunned by the complete dread and wonder of what I had just heard, I slowly inquired, "What was the name of this man?"

In a voice barely above a whisper he replied, "His name was _Erik_."

As I climbed into the great four-poster bed, I could not ease my mind into sleep. After hearing that most remarkable of stories, I seemed to hear whispered voices at my ear of _Erik_…_murderer_ continually through the night. Erik refused to leave my thoughts, pushing me further and further to find out more about this man who seemed to now haunt this house.

The next several days however passed with little or no excitement. Every morning I rose and met Raoul for a small breakfast, and every morning I noticed how the curtains were never drawn, nor the windows ever opened. I myself opened my own windows in my room letting in the fresh crisp air. I always had abhorred a stuffy room, which now the entire château emitted. Why would someone fear drafts as badly as my cousin?

Near the end of my visit I decided it would be refreshing to take a turn about the great house, believing it would be beneficial to my health to move about. But, deep in the back of my mind I knew my health was not the only reason. I felt once again that relentless urge to search more intensely into the mystery of Christine Daaé.

I walked for what seemed hours opening countless doors, to countless rooms. Each room held an air of gloom about it, heightened by the perpetual shadows from the lack of light. Coming to terms that I was at the end of my useless journey, I settled upon the idea of opening one last door.

The door was far removed from the rest of the house, being at the end of a lengthy hallway. I gingerly crept up to it, placing my hand on the cool brass handle and slowly turned it. Locked…_strange_. Feeling like I had struck gold, I quickly grabbed at a long piece of wire that I had carried in my pocket. I slowly pushed the wire into the lock and began to twist it this way, and that until…_click!_

The door now swung freely open, and a rush of damp musty air greeted my unhappy nose. All the objects in the room were covered with a thick layer of dust, seeming to be preserved in their original state. A bed, bedecked with a cover stood on one wall. A chair and small table, which had a dried rose in a blue glass vase that sat atop it, stood on the other side. As I looked about, I noticed several small perfume bottles and other such items arranged on a chest of drawers. And then I realized…_the room of a woman_. I hastily searched the area for any clues as to whom the room once belonged. To aid in my investigation, I opened the ancient curtains and the great window, letting light and air pour in.

Now assisted by the illumination, I saw something I had failed to see before: the corner of a piece of paper sticking out of one of the drawers. I quickly made my way over to it, opening the drawer with haste ignoring the dust flying about my head. The contents consisted of a pile of papers strewn about the bottom of the drawer…letters, news clippings, notes… _all sorts of papers!_

I grabbed at one of the letters that rested on top, and quickly read its message:

_I have died of love for you, Christine._

_Erik_

A cold sweat started to seep from my skin, as I felt that the mystery was soon to finally be revealed. Was I in Christine's very own room?

I next snatched at a news clipping from an issue of the _Époque_, which simply stated in small letters:

_Erik is dead._

Suddenly I heard the hinges of the door creek behind me, and when I spun around I saw in the doorway the dark figure of my cousin, _Raoul_.

Raoul pointed a trembling finger at me, pain detectible in his sad eyes and said in a voice barely above a whisper, "How _dare_ you set foot into this room! _Christine's room!_ How dare you open that window! I demand you close it at once!"

"You're mad!" I bellowed. "You keep your late wife's quarters locked up, you order your windows never to be opened, _why_?"

"Because!" he yelled loudly, "My late wife threw herself to her death out of that _very_ window! I promised myself that I would never enter this room again, nor can I _bear_ to open any window because of the thought of that ghastly memory!"

"You told me the doctors thought it to be rheumatic fever, but that you believed it to be the work of the man whose name you dread: _Erik_! Yes, I know about Erik. The man whom you rescued Christine from at the opera, the man whom you believe to be the cause of her death. He was a _man_, Raoul. Thinking anything else is utter lunacy!"

"_You didn't know Erik_," He retorted with a sneer, as if pitying me for my stupidity, "You never witnessed his tricks, never witnessed his cunning, never witnessed the power he seemed to possess."

Here, Raoul took in a deep breath and said, "I will tell you the facts as I have told no one else. When I brought Christine here as my young bride, we shared the happiest moments imaginable together. I flatter myself with thinking that we were the luckiest couple on earth in our short time together.

"However, after our first year of marriage, Christine received an issue of the _Époque_ and became greatly distressed after reading that one single notice that changed our lives forever: _Erik is dead._ That's all it said…_Erik is dead_. Isn't it ironic how three simple words can transform the entire course of someone's life?

"As you obviously know the main events that took place in the cellars of the opera, let me enlighten you unto the details. Erik had Christine make an agreement with him that upon his death she was to come back to the opera and bury him so that he may spend eternity within his realm of death and decay. Had I known the repercussions of her performing this grisly task, I would never had allowed it…but I could not make her break her promise to_ him_.

"When she arrived back at our home, she arrived a different person. Not only did she seem but a mirror image of herself, but also all her liveliness and joy seemed to be extinguished. I believe that when she buried Erik, she buried her soul with him.

"She confided in me that she found a letter clasped in his hand, telling her that she was the reason for his death, that he had died of love for her. The poor thing became overwhelmed with guilt and refused to let the letter out of her sight, carrying it with her constantly. It was the only thing she had of Erik's.

"Over the next several weeks that followed, I helplessly watched her slowly slip away from me. No doctor could help her. In the end, she was as a ghost, moving from place to place with no destination. Finally, on that most miserable of days, I walked into her room to bring her a cup of tea and found the window wide open, the curtains billowing in the wind. I cried out her name…but there was no answer! Fear welling up within me, I ran to the window and hastily stuck out my head. Looking down the great wall I saw there on the ground the most horrific thing…my beloved wife. _Dead._

"In her grief brought on by guilt, she had thrown herself from the window and committed suicide. Erik had succeeded. He knew that what he asked and what he wrote would drive her mad with remorse and sorrow. _Don't you see?_ We are simply his puppets in his grand puppet show! He is always pulling the strings for his own satisfaction, and can even manipulate us from beyond the grave. I had won Christine in life, he let us live one year together…but he knew that he would win her soul in death. He took her away from me again, but this time, she was _never_ to return and I could not rescue her. Yes, congratulations _Erik_! The Master Puppeteer!"

Raoul started to look even paler than before, and more like a raving madman than ever!

"_Yes…"_ he whispered to himself… _"Yes, the window must remain closed!"_

As he ran for the window, I caught him in my arms, determined to stop him from his insanity! We struggled for several minutes, him trying to free himself to get to the window, and me trying to deter him. As we struggled, we moved closer and closer to the opened window! I could feel myself loosing my grip, and as Raoul finally became free he lost his footing and started to stumble. Then, _oh tragedy!_ Raoul tried desperately to grab unto the curtains to bring him balance, but he lost his grip and I watched helplessly as my cousin, the last de Chagny, fall out of the window and to his death.

Filled with utter shock at what I had just witnessed, I ran over to the window, and looked down. There I saw to my utter horror, my dear cousin lying dead on the ground far beneath. He had met the same fate as his wife. As I looked on at the great tragedy that surrounded me, I swear on my life that I heard the awful laugh of he who started it all, that of Erik laughing at all his puppets.


End file.
